Fate Shows You the Door
by mchicken
Summary: Set in 2016, Steve looks back on the only case he and Mike failed to solve.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: School's out, so it must be time to write. This has been kicking around in my brain for a while, time to put it to metaphoric paper. As always, these fine characters do not belong to me, though I would not say no if they were left to me in someone's will, LOL. I only borrow them to amuse myself and hopefully you. No one is getting rich and famous here. Enjoy.**_

He sat looking around the office he had occupied for the better part of 40 years. Most of his things had been packed up by his teaching assistants, but he had yet to tackle his desk and the credenza directly behind it. His minions, as he jokingly called them after seeing a movie with his youngest granddaughter, knew better than to touch the holy of holies of his office.

When he made the decision to retire at the end of the current school year, Steve figured he would have plenty of time to sort through the detritus of his academic career. Yet here he was, still so much to do with only a week left in the semester. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. There was no avoiding it now.

More than two generations of Berkeley students had passed through his classroom during his years in academia. Although still fit and vigorous at 72, it was truly a wake-up call when a student shared the fact that Dr. Keller had taught his _grandmother_ as an undergrad. It was as if fate had shown him the door. Where had all the time gone?

Criminology had changed dramatically in the years since he left the streets. DNA, CCTV, CODIS, AFIS and a litany of alphabet soup applications continued to make law enforcement more science than art. Hell, he could find out more information in five minutes on _Google_ than he could in a lifetime of old school investigation. He tried to keep up with all the newest technology, but he had to admit, it was getting harder every day. Funny, when he first joined the force he was the hot shot college boy, the best and the brightest of the new breed of cop, but now he felt like his view of police work was closer to _Dragnet_ than _CSI_.

He picked up a black and white photo in a silver frame. They were all gone now. Sekulovitch was first, but over the years one by one they all slipped away. Tanner, Lessing, Healey, Devitt, Olsen. Haseejian was the last. Steve had thought Norm would live forever as the dirty old man of Leisure World*, but even the sturdy Armenian had succumbed to the march of time almost a year ago. Steve slipped the frame in the box and continued on to the next photo.

He gazed lovingly at his favorite picture of him and his onetime partner with the Golden Gate in the background. It had been almost 7 years since Mike died peacefully in his sleep at the ripe old age of 97. Steve's friendship with Mike Stone had turned out to be the most enduring relationships of his life. Certainly longer than his marriage, which ended in divorce over 30 years ago. Not one day had gone by since Mike's passing when Steve didn't miss his best friend. He gently swept his fingers across the glass protecting the image before placing it into the box. Could it really have been 46 years ago when they first met?

The insistent buzz of his cell phone pulled him back to the present. He laughed as he thought about how much time he had wasted looking for pay phones back in the day before he answered.

"Keller."

"Hey, Steve, I'm glad I caught you."

It had been a long time since he had heard that voice.

"Hey stranger, this is a surprise. How are you?"

"Good, really good. How about you?"

"Can't complain, just trying to get my office cleaned out."

"So you finally pulled the plug, huh?"

"Yeah, thought it was about time. So how are you and Jim enjoying retirement?"

"Busier than ever with volunteering, the grandkids and travel. Had I known retirement was going to be this much fun, I would have done it years ago."

"That's great, so what's up?"

"Do I need an excuse to talk to an old friend?"

"Of course not, but it's been a while." Since Mike's death, they had barely been in contact, save the annual Christmas letter and a few odd phone calls.

The line was silent for a few beats before Jeannie Stone Parker continued.

"As it turns out, I'm in town. Finally decided to sell the old place. We've been renting it out since dad passed, but with the way real estate has taken off in this town, we are looking at a pretty good payday, even as old as the place is.** And honestly, I never liked being a landlord."

At the mention of the house, Steve was instantly transported to the kitchen table at DeHaro Street. Though he was sure the old furniture was gone, he would never think of it other than as it looked in the early 1970's. He fondly remembered the endless cups of coffee from the old Pyrex percolator while Jeannie tried to get his attention on the other end of the line.

"Earth to Steve, you still with me babe?"

"Sorry, just nostalgia catching up with me. Sad day when a Stone doesn't own 768 anymore."

"I know what you mean. Funny how attached we get to places, isn't it."

"Yeah, it sure is. Hey you and Jim want to grab a bite later?"

"Love to, but I'm flying solo this trip. Jim stayed in Phoenix."

Steve smiled. As much as he liked Jeannie husband of 31 years, it would be nice to have her to himself for one night.

"Where are you staying? I can pick you up around seven."

"Do me a favor, swing by the house, there is something I want to show you."

"Casa Stone, it is. At least I'll get a chance to say goodbye to the old place."

00000

Jeannie looked around the now denuded living room. When she had put the house up for rent 6 years ago, she had sold, trashed or packed and shipped most of the contents. With the tenants having moved out a little over three weeks ago, nothing was left, save a wall mirror, a few empty cardboard boxes and two folding chairs. Despite the emptiness, this was still "home." It didn't seem to matter that she had not lived there full time in over 30 years. _The house you grew up in would always be home._ Her eyes misted.

The low grumble of a car out on the street caught her attention. She looked out the window to see a slim, silver haired man exit a sleek black Lexus. Steve and his cars, she thought. Didn't matter how old he got, he always had a cool ride.

She watched him jog up the steps, much like the old days. The new knees seemed to be working just fine. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, Jeannie glanced at the older woman staring back from the mirror and sighed. It didn't seem fair, he looked handsome and distinguished with his full head of wavy hair and neatly trimmed goatee. She just looked like someone's grandmother; _hot grandmother yes_ she smirked, but a grandmother nonetheless.

The door opened before he even had a chance to knock. Jeannie stood and drank in the sight of one of her oldest friends.

"Steve, you look great as always."

She gathered him into a comfortable hug. They had known each other for what seemed like forever. Jeannie had been in high school when they first met. Now over forty years later, his eyes still held the same sparkle. She'd always had a crush on him, from the first time Mike brought him home. But ultimately they wound up as old, comfortable friends.

"You look terrific babe, younger than ever." Steve complimented as he released her embrace.

"You are a liar and a flirt, Steve Keller. You never change. But at my age, I'll take it."

He gave her a crooked grin. "Seriously Jeannie, you look great. How's Jim?"

"Super. He's playing in a golf tournament in Scottsdale. Gave me an excuse to come home."

Steve looked around the empty room. This house held the memories, good and bad, of more than half his life. Towards the end, he'd practically lived here full time, particularly when Jeannie couldn't leave her family. She'd wanted Mike to come and spend his final years with her in Arizona, but true to Mike's stubborn nature, he could never leave his beloved city by the bay. This was the first time he'd been in the house since the week after the funeral. God, how he missed Mike.

"It's a little overwhelming, isn't it?" Jeannie whispered.

"Yeah," Steve responded in an equally quiet tone. Not knowing how long he could stand being in the old house, he got right to the point. "So, what did you want me to see?"

Jeannie walked over to the stairs and picked up a dusty, brown banker's box. "I found this in the attic." She took one look at his startled face and quickly added, "And don't you dare say I'm too old to be climbing up to the attic. I just wanted to make sure I didn't miss anything. This was tucked under one of the rafters."

Steve brushed off some of the dust and opened the box. Inside were several file folders filled with what looked like copies of case and evidence reports, there was also a yellow legal tablet with notes clearly in Mike's hand. He flipped open the top file and gasped, "Well I'll be damned. He never gave up on this."

Jeannie was now even more curious. "What is it?"

Steve put the lid back on the box. "Come on and lock up, let's get out of here and I'll tell you all about it."

 ***Leisure World is a California-based "active" retirement community that opened in 1960 and is still around today.**

 **** The 1220 square ft. (113.3 square meters) house at 768 DeHaro Street sold for $953,000.00 US dollars in 2015. It is currently valued at $1.2 million US. It was built in 1908. Real estate prices in San Francisco are nuts!**


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: This story is obviously going to contain sequences from the past. I will try to make it as clear as possible. If it's not, please let me know. Even though Steve is telling the story, I have dispensed with the quotation marks and first person narrative during the flash back sections, other than dialog between characters. When you see a date header and Italics, assume it's the past until you get to the 00000. Easy, right?**_

They settled into a booth at one of Steve's favorite out-of-the-way places in North Beach. Jeannie had suggested Mama's, for old time sake, and was dismayed when Steve told her they'd sold out to one of the chain restaurants that seemed to be everywhere these days.

After some Chianti, bruschetta and small talk, Steve placed a yellowed file folder on the table while they waited for their entrées. Jeannie snickered when he pulled a pair of reading glasses out of his jacket pocket.

"What the hell are you laughing at? I'm 72 years old." he said with humor coloring his voice.

"Nothing _Doctor Keller_. It makes you look very scholarly!"

" _Sure_ it does. Do you want to know what this is about or not?"

"I'm sorry. Please I'm dying to know, continue."

Steve looked at Jeannie. The glint of excitement in her bright blue eyes was reminiscent of Mike's when he latched onto an interesting case. His voice wavered a little when he began to speak.

"We caught this case a while after Mike and I started working together. I think you were already at college. The murder actually took place a few blocks from here. It's the only one we never solved."

 **September 11, 1972 8:30am**

 _It was early on Monday morning. Steve was sitting at his desk, typing a report and nursing a cup of terrible coffee. The phone rang on Mike's desk. When the Lieutenant hung up the phone and grabbed his hat and raincoat, Steve knew they had a body._

 _They walked down to the parking lot in silence. Steve was a little ragged from the weekend and Mike knew it. When he slid behind the wheel, Steve finally spoke._

" _Where are we headed?"_

" _448 Columbus, between Stockton and Green."_

" _Stella's?" Stella's, an Italian bakery opened during World War II, was a legend in the North Beach area._

" _You know, for someone who didn't grow up in San Francisco, you know an awful lot about the city."_

" _Mike, everybody knows about Stella's. It's not exactly a secret. Best cannoli in the city."_

" _Ok, I'll, give you that, wise guy."_

" _Murder?"_

" _Won't know till Bernie calls it."_

" _Then why are we already on the way there?"_

" _Stella's an old friend of the mayor."_

" _The Stella? There actually is a Stella?"_

" _Of course, you think they pulled the name out of a hat?"_

 _Steve shook his head, threw the big tan sedan into reverse and headed for the Beach._

 _A uniformed officer stood outside the bakery, restricting entry to the scene. Mike and Steve unnecessarily produced their ID's and enter the small shop to the sound of a tinkling bell. Bernie was crouched down next to the body of a dark haired young woman in a white uniform._

" _What do we got, Bernie?"_

 _Bernie rolled his eyes at Mike, "I've been here 5 minutes. We have a dead girl."_

" _Murder?"_

" _Um, the gunshot wound marring her pristine white uniform would seem to indicate that, but I'll know more when I get her on the table."_

" _ID?"_

" _Donna Miller." Bernie handed Mike a California driver's license. He squinted at the grainy black and white photo. It really could have been anybody, but he had to assume it did in fact belong to the dead girl._

" _Boy, I can't wait till they replace these old style licenses with color pictures, this could be anybody.*_

 _Steve sighed as he took the license from Mike. "17 years old, the ink probably isn't even dry on this thing. Has the notification been made?"_

" _No. We'll need someone to come in and verify her ID."_

 _Steve copied the family address into his notebook. "Who found the body?"_

" _You'll have to ask the patrolman who answered the call, but my bet is on the man behind the counter." Bernie inclined his head to the glass case filled with baked goods. A distressed middle-aged man, flanked by a uniformed officer sat behind it with his head in his hands._

 _Steve wandered over and got the patrolman's attention. The uniformed officer rounded the counter and spoke to Steve in a low voice. "That's Carlos Ramirez. He came in this morning at four to fire up the ovens and start baking for the day. He said the door was open and the lights were on when he got here. He found her on the floor and called the cops."_

 _Steve, anxious to get away from the body of the young girl, went around the counter and gently laid his hand on the baker. Carlos looked up, his distress plainly written in his red rimmed eyes. Steve looked at the door behind the counter that led to the kitchen._

" _I'm Inspector Keller. How about if we go in the back, Mr. Ramirez." Steve punctuated the statement by holding his hand up and pointing the way._

 _Ramirez looked dazed, but stood and walked mutely through the open door. The kitchen was deserted. The lights were on and the strong smell of rising yeast dough permeated the space. Steve led the man to a stool next to a stainless steel work table before getting him a drink of water from the sink. Ramirez took a sip of the water and attempted to collect himself._

" _I know you already spoke to the patrolman, but would you mind going over it again with me?" Steve gave him his most compassionate smile and took out his notebook._

" _I guess so. Like I said to the officer, I was coming in to start baking. When I pulled up, I was a little surprised that the lights were on. Usually the person who locks up shuts them off, except for the display case lights. Sometimes they forget, but when I got to the door and it was unlocked, I was really concerned."_

" _Who was supposed to close last night? Donna seems awfully young to have that kind of responsibility."_

" _I know. I've told Stella a million times it's not right to have a young girl alone in this neighborhood after the sun goes down, but Donna, she was really mature for her age, so level headed. Ramirez spoke with a reverent air. Most of these high school girls, well, let's just say they come and go, but Donna, well, she was different." Ramirez blessed himself and looked heavenward, adding, "God rest her soul, such a waste."_

" _How long had she worked here?"_

" _Over a year, started just after her 16_ _th_ _birthday. A real go getter. She came to Stella, asked for a job. She didn't just want to work the counter, she wanted to learn and didn't mind getting her hands dirty. Had a natural talent for baking, really got it. Probably would have given Stella a run for her money after a while. If she had only gotten a chance." Ramirez closed his eyes and looked down at the floor. A single tear trailed down his face._

 _Steve let him have a moment before he continued. "What did you do when you found the door unlocked?"_

" _When I came in, I saw her on the floor. I knew she was dead, poor baby. I called the cops and then I called Stella. I guess you know the rest."_

" _Did you notice if anything was missing?"_

" _I did check the cash register, but the till was already removed and the safe was locked. I don't have the combination, so I couldn't check to see if the tray was in there."_

" _Did you touch anything other than the register, the door and the phone?"_

" _No Sir. As soon as I made the calls, I went out and waited for the cops in my car."_

" _Do you know if there was anything bothering her lately?"_

 _Ramirez thought it over for a few moments. "Not that she mentioned, but then again, I didn't work with her much, she usually came in after I went home most days. Although come to think of it, she didn't seem to be smiling as much as she used to."_

 _Steve jotted down a few notes and looked at his watch, rubbing his tired eyes. It was well past 9 am, more than 5 hours since the body was found. Something was bugging him about Ramirez, but his sluggish brain was having a hard time pinpointing the cause. Mike had taught him to trust his instincts about people, but his little voice was making no sense right now. He fished a card out of his wallet and handed it to Ramirez. "Here's my card. If you think of anything else, let me know. We'll be in touch."_

" _Can I go?"_

 _Steve didn't see any reason to keep the man. "Sure, but can you give me a number where we can contact you if we have any more questions?"_

 _Mike walked into the kitchen as Ramirez exited the back door of the bakery. "Anything?"_

" _Not really." Steve wasn't ready to share his unfounded suspicions with Mike yet. "You?"_

" _Maybe. Charlie found something caught under her nails."_

00000

The waitress came to the table and dropped off Jeannie and Steve's dinners. They ate quietly for a while until Jeannie spoke up.

"Sounds like a perfectly ordinary case. What made it so unsolvable?"

"Funny, that's what Mike and I thought at first. Robbery gone bad, jealous boyfriend, something like that, but it went sideways pretty quickly.

 ***California had photo driver's licenses as early as 1958. Color licenses were phased in starting in 1972.**


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N: Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed. The reception for this has been over whelming. I hope I can fulfill your mandate. MBC_**

 **September 11, 1972 11:30am**

 _Mike and Steve pulled away from the bakery. The lab team had just arrived. After conferring with Charlie, they were on their way to speak with the dead girl's family. It was a job neither of them relished but they needed to get a positive ID._

 _Steve parked the car in front of a small house at 241 Connecticut St. It was only a few blocks from Mike's house but a world away. It had definitely seen better days. The Lieutenant went first, Steve lagging behind. This was the least favorite part of the job._

 _Mike knocked on the door with peeling brown paint and waited. A pale, middle-aged woman with mousy brown hair answered, pulling the door only open as far as the security chain would allow. A faint smell of alcohol wafted out of the 6 inch opening._

" _What do you want?" she asked with no pretense of civility._

 _Mike smiled warmly, despite the greeting. "Afternoon Ma'am, I'm Lt. Stone, this is my associate, Inspector Keller. We'd like…"_

" _Cops, figures." She closed, then opened the door fully, turned her head and bellowed into the house, "Cameron, cops! What the hell did you do now?"_

 _A young man of about twenty ambled to the door and came up behind the woman. He was painfully thin with dark circles under his eyes, filthy blue jeans and long shaggy hair. "I didn't do nothing ma, would you lay off of me."_

 _The two detectives traded glances before Mike tried to speak again. "Ma'am we aren't here about the boy. Are you Mrs. Miller?"_

" _Yeah, what did you say your names were?"_

" _Stone and Keller, SFPD." Mike held up his ID. The woman nodded her head after inspecting his credentials._

" _We are actually here about your daughter. Am I correct that you do have a 17 year old daughter by the name of Donna?"_

 _The woman blanched and promptly slammed the door in their faces._

 _Steve gaped at Mike. "What was that about?"_

 _Mike shrugged his shoulders and banged on the door once again._

 _This time it was opened by the young man. Mike could hear sobbing in the background as Cameron Miller slipped out of the door and stood on the stoop in bare feet. He fidgeted nervously, like a junky in need of a fix._

" _I don't know what you two are up to, but it's gonna take me forever to get her calmed down. What were you thinking?"_

" _I'm sorry sir," Steve began, "but do you have a sister named Donna?"_

" _DID, man, DID. She died when she was 4."_

00000

"Hold on," Jeannie said, dropping her fork, "Your dead teen died when she was 4? How is that possible?

"I'm getting to that. It was only the beginning of the enigma." He refilled their wine glasses and continued.

 **September 11, 1972 1:30 pm**

 _Steve sat in the chair in front of Mike's desk picking at a sandwich. Mike had made slightly more progress on his lunch._

" _So now where do we start?" Steve asked._

" _That's the 64 dollar question, buddy boy. Maybe take her picture to the local high schools, see if anybody recognizes her."_

" _It's a beginning. If she was working, she had to have a Social Security Number, we can check that too."_

 _Mike thought about it. "Maybe, but I don't know if that would help, either. How long do you think she has been masquerading as Donna Miller?"_

 _Steve lifted his hands in confounded surrender. They had talked with Cameron Miller for over an hour before they came back to Bryant Street_ ** _._** _He told them how his family disintegrated after Donna passed. His father, Frank Miller unable to cope with the loss, hung himself 3 years after Donna died. Cameron who was 11 at the time, had found his dad's lifeless body in the attic._

 _His mother, Janice, worked as a maid when she wasn't too drunk, relying on bourbon to dull the pain of a shattered existence. Cameron had dropped out of school at 16 and now managed the best he could, picking up odd jobs or selling this and that, trying to keep the eviction notices at bay. From what Mike and Steve could see, he also relied on a heavy course of self-medication to cope with the hand life had dealt him._

" _It's a hell of a thing that family went through." Mike commented sadly as he picked up the phone. He had lost a wife, but could not begin to fathom the grief of losing a child. Steve shook his head in agreement as he listened to Mike's one sided conversation._

" _Yeah, Bernie, ID's a bust. … Jane Doe for now. … Yep. … We'll need the driver's license back so we can figure out how she got it. … Yep. … We'll need fingerprints, too. … When will you have something for us?"_

 _Steve could hear Bernie's perturbed response from across the small room. Mike hung up the phone._

" _He should have something for us later this afternoon. Finish up." Mike tossed the remainder of his sandwich in the trash. "We have a date at DMV."_

" _Aw, Mike no, not the DMV! Can't we just call?"_

 _Steve led the way to the counter, amid dirty looks from the hordes waiting in line for service. He smiled at the young woman at the desk, proffering his shield._

" _Can I ask you a couple of questions?"_

" _Well, seeing as this is the information desk, shoot!" The red head smiled broadly._

 _Mike, who was a pace behind, covered a grin with his hand. It was always a good idea to let Steve make this sort of inquiry, particularly if the clerk in question was young and female. Steve felt his partner's amused eyes on his back, but chose to ignore him._

" _What do you need to get your first driver's license?" Steve was fairly certain he knew the process from his own experience, but the DMV regularly changed policy, and the detectives wanted to be sure._

" _All you need is a birth certificate. Once you pass the written test, we take your picture and you get a permit until you can schedule a road test."_

" _That's it? You don't need any other documentation? Something with an address?" Steve was trying to wrap his head around why the victim had used the Miller's address instead of her own._

" _Nope, just the birth certificate. Easy as pie."_

" _Do you make a copy of the birth certificate for the application?"_

" _Sure, we attach a Xerox of it to the paperwork."_

" _Where are the original documents stored?"_

" _We keep them here until they go to Sacramento to be digitized. That can take up to a month, sometimes more. Then they are destroyed and can be accessed by computer.*"_

" _How long do you keep them?"_

" _Usually 30 days."_

 _Mike handed Steve the license. He looked at the issue date. August 10, 1972. He whispered to Mike, "Do you feel lucky?"_

" _Won't know until we ask."_

 _Steve turned back to the counter and handed the license to the pretty clerk. "Any chance this application is still in house?"_

" _Could be, with the Labor Day holiday, we're a little behind schedule."_

" _Can we see it?"_

 _The young woman hesitated. "Um, that decision is above my pay grade, if you know what I mean."_

 _Steve leaned in close and nodded his head conspiratorially. The red head smiled again, jotting down something on a notecard and handed it to Steve. He slipped the card in his pocket._

" _Let me call my supervisor."_

 _Mike stepped forward when a short, balding civil servant came from the back office. Fearing a red tape road block, he got right to the point. While reticent to share the information without authorization from Sacramento, office manager was no match for Lieutenant Stone. With a copy of the document in hand, they returned to Bryant Street to meet with Bernie._

 _Mike handed Steve the birth certificate and application as they walked toward the morgue._

" _Looks official to me. And the picture is definitely of our victim."_

" _Exactly what I thought, how do you think our Jane Doe got ahold of it?"_

" _Who knows? I think the more important question is why and why use the Miller's address?"_

 _They entered the autopsy suite to find Bernie hunched over the bleached looking body of their Jane Doe. Steve took his customary position by the door, while Mike went in for a closer look._

 _The ME looked up. "Gentlemen."_

" _What's the word Bernie?" Mike asked._

" _Cause of death confirmed. Single gunshot wound. Probably a .22."_

" _Any surprises?"_

" _You mean other than the fact that she was pregnant?"_

' _Yes, Bernie. I would classify that as a surprise. How far along was she?"_

" _I'd say about 8 weeks. And Mike, I'm fairly certain this woman was quite a bit older than 17."_

00000

"So let me get this straight." Jeannie said between sips of coffee. Your dead teen was now a pregnant Jane Doe, who got a driver's license with a phony birth certificate."

"Almost. The birth certificate was real, it just wasn't hers and according to Bernie, she was closer to 25 and the pregnancy wasn't her first."

Jeannie stared open-mouthed at Steve as the waiter brought over the check. The restaurant had mostly cleared out and it looked like the wait staff was anxious for the couple to leave. Steve handed the waiter his American Express card and after a few quiet minutes signed the receipt.

"Let's get out of here." He said standing and helping Jeannie on with her jacket.

"You're not going to leave the story there, are you?"

"No, come on, we'll pick up your stuff and you can stay at my place. I've got plenty of room."

"Wait, I've got reservations at…"

"Chez Keller. You know you are always welcome."

 ** _*The California DMV was completely computerized in 1970._**


	4. Chapter 4

It was midnight by the time Steve pulled into the driveway of his home on Grizzly Peak Boulevard in Berkeley. He hadn't made a lot of smart moves when he was younger, his ill-fated marriage was a prime example, although it gave him two fantastic daughters and multiple grandchildren. This place, however was one of his wiser decisions. The modest Spanish-style house overlooked Berkeley, San Francisco Bay and the city in the distance. On a clear day, he could see the Golden Gate Bridge. It was now worth more money than he could earn in 5 lifetimes.

He gently roused Jeannie who had dozed off in the front seat.

"Hey sleepyhead, we're here."

She awoke with a confused start. While she collected herself, Steve grabbed her bag from the back seat and walked up the path to the front door.

"You can have the guest room upstairs." He led her to the room and dropped the bag on the bed.

"Thanks, Steve. You didn't have to do this."

"Yes I did and you are very welcome, but the rest of the story is going to have to wait until tomorrow afternoon. I have class at 8:30 am and I usually don't stay up this late on a school night."

Jeannie laughed. "Tell me about it. This is way past my bedtime as well. When did we get to be so old?" He sighed and gave her a quick hug before retreating to his room.

Steve laid awake a good part of the night, the story-telling session weighing heavily on his mind. He hadn't thought about it for years, but this case always bothered him. Funny, He and Mike had never really talked about it, but finding Mike's notes told him he wasn't the only one haunted by the lack of closure.

He awoke to the smell of coffee and looked at the clock. It was only six am but he could see the first rays of the morning sun glinting off San Francisco Bay through the window. He showered and dressed, finding Jeannie on the patio staring out towards San Francisco. Exiting the French doors, he was embraced by a gentle salt-kissed breeze.

"I forgot about this view."

"It's really something, isn't it? Mike used to love to sit out here and watch the sun set, he really was a romantic when it came to _his_ city. I don't know how I'm ever going to leave this place."

"Why would you?"

"Money. The property taxes are eating me alive. Once I retire, well… who knows." Steve yawned and sat heavily in one of the deck chairs.

Jeannie looked at his bloodshot eyes. "Looks like someone didn't sleep much."

"No." He took a large gulp of black coffee.

They sat in silence as the sky grew lighter.

Finally, Jeannie broke the morning's magic spell. "What time do you have to leave?" She was anxious to pick up where they left off last night. Hearing the tale last night and seeing the city she grew up in seemed to make her father come alive again.

Steve looked at his watch. "Depends. If I walk, about 7:15, later if I decide to drive. Do you need wheels today?"

"I can just call a cab."

"Forget it. My doctor says I really need the exercise and it's pretty much downhill the whole way. He pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket and dropped them on the table. Do what you need to do and then meet me at my office." He finished his coffee and went back in the house, packing the case files and Mike's notes in his satchel.

After a quick goodbye, Steve started the 3 mile walk to his office in Boalt Hall, the home of UCBerkeley Law. The Criminal Justice Department had moved into the School of Law building just before Steve started his academic career.

The brisk walk helped to mitigate the sadness creeping into his consciousness. The reality of retirement and accompanying change of lifestyle had as much to do with his mood as memories of the unsolved case. He couldn't change his current situation, but he wondered if there was anything in Mike's notes that could help him finally let go of a 40 year old mystery. It was surprising how much it mattered all these years later.

After swiping his ID in the door, Steve took the stairs at a jog, breathing heavily when he got to the third floor. _Damn steps are gonna kill me one of these days._ Opening the door to the common area of the department, he was surprised that his office was open.

"Morning Dr. K." A cheerful, curly-headed woman called in greeting. She noticed his labored breathing. "You walk to school today?"

"Morning, Catherine. What's up?" he asked the 40-something administrative assistant who managed the Criminal Justice Department offices.

"Maintenance is measuring your office for the new occupant."

Steve rolled his eyes, "Geez, they didn't even let the body get cold, did they?"

Catherine laughed and shook her head as Steve walked into the office. He found a young man with a clipboard and a measuring tape assessing the space.

"Excuse me, is it ok if I use MY office?

"The young man looked up. "Oh, Sorry Dr. K., just doing my job. I'll get out of your way, I can come back later."

"Much," Steve muttered under his breath as he shooed the worker out the door. He tossed his bag on the desk, sat down and pulled out the files. He'd made it to the office in record time and had a few spare minutes before class.

Catherine followed him in with a Nalgene bottle filled with water and a worried look in her eyes. They had worked together for over fifteen years. That didn't even account for her 4 years in the department as an undergrad. She really liked the professor's easy going nature and quick wit. If only he were few years younger...

"You really need to take it easy, Doc. I'm not going to be around to take care of you after you retire."

Steve accepted the water and the concern. "It's one of my great regrets in leaving. What am I going to do without you?"

"Oh, flattery will get you everywhere Dr. K." Catherine blushed. "A couple of things. Your exams for this morning are locked in the file cabinet. _You know,_ one of your TA's could have given the test. Your publisher called, you have a deadline coming up. The commandant of the Academy wants you to speak at graduation this term and maintenance wants to know when you are going to finish clearing out your stuff." She handed him three message slips.

" _Steve_ , Catherine. It's Steve." He had been trying to break her of the Dr. K. habit for years, but now that he was retiring, it made even less sense. "And thank you."

"One more thing. Have you made any decision on the retirement reception the University wants to have?"

Uncomfortable with the idea of a "Testimonial Dinner" he answered the question with a sigh and a shrug.

She smiled indulgently and looked down at the moldering files on his desk. "What's all this stuff?"

"Old case."

"Really?" Catherine always loved the stories Dr. K told about his days on the force. She had even met "Iron" Mike Stone a few times before he died. "Anything special?"

"You could say. Only one Mike and I never figured out."

"Oh, a mystery! Mind if I take a peek?"

"I guess…"

The bass line from the Doobie Bothers' "China Grove" sounded on Steve's phone. Usually engrossed in 100 different things, he had taken to setting a reminder alarm on his phone for when classes started. He got up and retrieved the exams from the file cabinet.

"Go get em, Doc, um Steve."

Steve smiled and left the office.

Catherine Wyland sat down at the desk and opened the file. As a Berkeley grad with a degree in Criminal Justice, she had always wanted to be a cop and Doctor K's enthusiasm had fanned that flame. When a trifecta knee injury at the Academy effectively ended her dream, she had kicked around from job to job until he called her about the administrative position. It wasn't a perfect solution, but she was happy here.

The past 15 years had flown by. She was proud of the work she did, keeping the department organized and functional despite the myriad personalities inhabiting the office. Although sad to see Steve Keller leave, the department would continue on without him. _It just wouldn't be as much fun,_ she though ruefully.

* * *

Jeannie pulled the Lexus into the parking lot at Boalt Hall at half past eleven. She walked through the main entrance, checked in with security and took the elevator up to the third floor. Her errands hadn't taken long, less than two hours at the Realtor's Office. With one signature, she finalized the paperwork that severed her connection to San Francisco permanently. It really was a sad day.

She assumed Steve's class would be over by now. Surprised that no one was at the reception desk, Jeannie continued on to Steve's office, finding a dark-haired woman sitting with her nose buried in old files that were neatly organized across the desk. She cleared her throat, startling Catherine.

"Oh, hell, I'm sorry," Catherine said as she got up from the desk, "Can I help you?"

"I'm here to see Steve, um, Dr. Keller."

Catherine looked at the clock. "He should be up any minute, he was giving a final. Hey, have we met before?"

Jeannie walked over and offered her hand, "Jeannie Parker. I'm an old friend of Steve's. You're Catherine, right?"

"Yep, Catherine Wyland. Wait, you're Mike Stone's daughter, right?"

"Guilty as charged, did you know Mike?"

"Met him a few times. Know him mostly from Dr. K's stories. Seemed like a great man."

"He truly was. Mind if I wait here for Doctor Keller?"

"Be my guest, can I get you anything?"

"No, thanks, I'm fine. How long do you think he'll be?"

"Heck, he should have been up here by now, must have gotten side tracked." She was a little startled at how much time had passed. Steve wasn't the only one who was distracted this morning.

Jeannie looked at the files. "Looks like you've been busy."

Catherine laughed, "Yeah, organizing is in my nature. I collated all the lab reports and case notes. I was just getting around to your dad's handwritten notes when you walked in. It's amazing that anything got solved back in the day. No computers or databases, stone age science. Makes what your dad and Steve did all that more impressive."

"What did I do that was so impressive?" Steve chose that moment to walk back in the office.

Both women looked up. Steve gave them a sarcastic smirk.

"Hey boss. I hope you don't mind. I kinda organized the case notes for you. This is one heck of a story. I'd love to hear your take on it."

"That's what I thought." Jeannie chimed in. "But I still need to hear the rest of it. What do you say Professor?

Steve chuckled. "How can I turn down two beautiful women?"

Catherine smiled at Jeannie, "I'll order some sandwiches. I think this is going to be an interesting afternoon."


	5. Chapter 5

_**AN: I'm no medical expert, but this is feasible according to my mad internet skills, LOL.**_

 _ **Gold star to Smithy for figuring out the naming convention for Jeannie's husband.**_

 _ **Sylvia Elaine asked for the address of Steve's house. 921 Grizzly Peak Blvd. Berkeley. You can Google Earth it and look at the view. The house is worth at least 1 million US in today's market.**_

 _ **Another gold star to Dublin Writer for recognizing the importance of Ms. Wyland's name.**_

 _ **Thanks for the love, readers. I will try to live up to your expectations.**_

They settled in Steve's offices as he looked through the reports. After a few moments he resumed his tale.

 **September 11, 1972 - 2 pm**

" _You're sure she's not a teenager?" Mike looked at the quirky ME with wide eyes._

" _Yep, the body doesn't lie."_

" _How can you tell she's had other children?" Steve piped in from the other side of the room._

" _Hang on. Let me answer Mike's question first." Bernie pulled several x-rays out of a sleeve and hung them on a light box. "Look at these. See how the long bones are bright and opaque all the way to the ends. That means the growth plates are totally ossified. All bone. Usually happens when a person is about 25. There's a little wiggle room in that, but not much. When I saw these, I also checked her ribs, after we removed the organs, and her teeth. Both were consistent with someone at least 25 years old."_

" _OK, what about…"_

" _I'm getting to that." He pulled another x-ray and replaced the ones on the box. "After I discovered the pregnancy, I had a second series done of her pelvis. See the shadows and scoring." He indicated an area on the pelvic x-ray. "That tells me she has given birth at least once."_

 _Mike let out a low whistle. Now instead of an identified dead teenager, they were looking for a mystery woman with at least one child, living under an assumed name. He put on his glasses and looked more closely at the x-rays. "Hey doc, what about all these other bright white areas on the bones?"_

" _Noticed that, huh. Well done, with the amount of remodeling, it looks like she was the victim of quite a bit of abuse over the years. Hard to tell how old some of it is, but I'd bet at least some of it goes back to her childhood."_

 _Steve cringed. He hated abuse cases as much as Mike did._

" _What about the trace under her nails? Steve asked._

" _I sent it up to Charlie. It looks organic, skin tissue and blood, but there was something else, too."_

" _You think she scratched someone?"_

" _And something, you'll have to follow that up with the lab."_

" _Prints?"_

" _Yep, after you said the ID was a no go, we printed her. Although with nothing to compare it to, it won't do us any good. Charlie has those as well."_

 _Mike and Steve were about to leave when Bernie spoke again. "I don't know if this helps, but I don't think she was born in the US. Or if she was, she was born somewhere very rural."_

" _What makes you say that?"_

" _Dental work or the lack there of. Not like what we'd expect on a woman her age in the U.S."_

 _Steve and Mike took their leave of Bernie and walked toward the lab._

" _Now what? With the abuse angle and the fake ID do you think she was hiding from someone?" Steve asked shaking his head._

" _Could be. Could be that they found her."_

" _And committed the ultimate abuse. Murder."_

" _Double murder."_

" _Double?"_

" _She was pregnant, buddy boy."_

" _I don't know if the courts see it that way."_

" _Doesn't matter to me." Mike pushed open the door to the lab. "Let's see what Charlie has."_

 _Charlie saw Mike and Steve coming through the door and jumped on the opportunity to temper their expectations._

" _You can just stop right there, gentlemen. I've just begun to look at the scene evidence and haven't even touched the stuff Bernie sent me."_

" _Come on, Charlie," Mike said with irritation clear in his tone. "We need something, anything to help identify this woman."_

" _And try to figure out who killed her and why." Steve chipped in._

" _Please guys, I really do understand but I'll need at least till tomorrow before I have anything."_

" _First thing?"_

" _Yep, 8 am. We should have something by then. You can make the apologies to my wife for the overtime."_

 _Steve and Mike went back to the bull pen._

" _I sound like a broken record, but what next? We have nothing." Steve asked as he got two cups of coffee and followed Mike into his office._

" _How bout we take a crack at Stella. She hired the girl, maybe she knows something. We can also get her to open the safe and make sure the till was locked inside. If it's not, then maybe this is a simple robbery gone bad."_

" _You don't believe that for a second, Mike."_

" _No, but we can hope."_

" _Plus we still have to ID her." Steve paused unsure if he should share his gut feeling on Ramirez, but without anything to go on, he added, "I think we need to talk to Ramirez again as well. Something about him was, I don't know, off. Nothing obvious, but I think he knows more than he shared."_

 _Mike looked at him sideways "A hunch?"_

" _Maybe, if I'm right." Steve added with a tentative grin._

" _Fair enough, but if both of those fail, we still need to talk to the Social Security Administration."_

 _Steve nodded. "Do you think we should follow up with the Millers? She had to get the birth certificate somewhere."_

 _Mike considered the idea before he responded. "As a last resort. I would prefer to leave those poor people alone. There are other ways to get a birth certificate."_

" _But she knew the address and that the real Donna was dead."_

" _Let's just hold on that for now."_

 _Steve paused and took a sip of coffee. "Your idea about checking high schools might be a valid one, even though she was an adult. If she was passing as 17, she would have to get her work permit through a high school."_

" _I think you're right. I seem to remember that when Jeannie got a part time job in high school. But we can check that with Stella as well, she would have had to fill in part of the application."_

 _Steve pulled the notebook out of his pocket and handed it to Mike, who dialed the home of Mrs. Stella Magglio. When no one answered, he tried the bakery. After two rings the phone was answered by a tired voice._

" _Stella's. Can I help you?"_

00000

"This is what amazes me about what you did back then." Catherine said as she threw out the trash from lunch. You guys had absolutely nothing to go on but still found a toe hold to start the investigation."

"Didn't help much and really, cops still do that," Steve answered back. "They just have a lot more resources than we did. Interviewing suspects, witnesses and other people directly involved in a case is still the bread and butter of detective work."

The phone in the outer office rang and Catherine stepped away to answer. Jeannie looked at Steve with raised eyebrows, "A little hero worship? You better watch yourself Dr. K."

"Stop. She's a friend, coworker and young enough to be my daughter, for crying out loud."

Jeannie laughed, "And when has that stopped you before?"

"Point taken," Steve saluted Jeannie with a half empty water bottle, "but we have worked together for 15 years and I knew her as an undergraduate. It's just not done."

Jeannie was still smirking when Catherine walked back in the room. "What I miss?" She asked, as she looked from Jeannie to Steve and back again.

"Um, nothing. Let's continue.

 **September 12, 1972**

 _Steve picked Mike up at De Haro Street at 7:30 am. They drove to Stella's Bakery, surprised to see it open and crowded with early morning customers._

" _I guess donuts wait for no man, or woman." Steve said ruefully as they entered the shop. They were directed to the back by a 20-something red head when they asked for Mrs. Magglio._

 _Stella Magglio, a short, stout woman of indeterminate age with coal black hair, was orchestrating activities in the kitchen like a maestro. She looked up and saw Mike and Steve enter, motioning them to follow her into a small office. She sat behind the desk and pointed the duo into the facing chairs._

" _What can I do for you gentlemen?" she asked with a 3 pack-a-day growl._

" _I'm Lt. Stone, this is Inspector Keller. We'd like to ask you a few questions about, um, Donna."_

" _I don't know what I can tell you, she just worked here. Although, I will say she was the hardest working teen I ever hired. Was going to be a hell of a baker, too. She had the knack."_

 _Mike and Steve had already planned to avoid the topic of Donna's false identity. "Mrs. Magglio, did you fill out the work permit papers for Donna?"_

" _Yep. She came in here one day looking for a job. These kids turn over all the time, so I'm always looking for someone. I asked her age and she told me 17. So I told her to go to school and get the forms so I could fill them out. Takes most of the kids a while to do it, but she was back the next day. Her accent was a little thick, but heck, so were most of my family when they came over on the boat. I signed off and she started the next week. That was a year ago. She never missed a shift. It's a crying shame. Such a hard worker."_

" _Wait, she had an accent? Do you know where she was from?"_

" _Who knows, somewhere in Eastern Europe, Russia, Poland, Czechoslovakia, hell if I know."_

 _Mike looked at Steve pointedly. This was the first they were hearing of Jane Doe's ethnicity, but it seemed to back up Bernie's supposition._

 _Steve picked up the next question. "Do you happen to remember which high school she went to?"_

" _Now let me see… Balboa I think. Yep, definitely Balboa. I thought it was a little strange she would want a job out of her neighborhood. But, kids, whatever."_

 _Steve wrote the name in his note book and asked another question. "Mrs. Magglio…"_

" _Stella, to my friends dear, it's Stella." The older woman smoothed her hair and smiled at the young inspector._

 _Steve blushed, "Stella, did you check the safe yesterday?"_

" _Sure did, after the cops let us in. Wanted to make sure we didn't get robbed. Till was in there, didn't look like anything was missing. Carlos was trying to make me feel guilty about letting Donna close, but I told him it wasn't no robbery. Someone was out to get that kid."_

" _Why would you say that Ms. Magglio?"_


	6. Chapter 6

**September 12, 1972**

 _Stella pulled a pack of Camels from out of the desk. "You mind?" She asked as she lit up a smoke and dropped the match in an overflowing ashtray. "Helps settle my nerves."_

" _So you were saying Mrs. Magglio…" Mike prompted the baker to expand on her last comment._

 _Steve coughed as Stella blew smoke in his direction. "She lived scared."_

 _Mike looked at Steve after the cryptic statement and asked. "How do you mean?"_

" _It wasn't anything obvious, she was friendly enough, smiled at the right times, but_ _sad. When she thought no one was looking, there was a faraway look in her eyes. S_ _he was always looking over her shoulder, too. You had to be really careful if you walked up behind her, she would startle like a scared rabbit. It was like she was hiding something or from someone."_

" _Did you ever ask her about it?"_

" _I did, of course she said it was nothing. But still, it concerned me. Then lately, if I didn't know better I would say she was sick, pale, circles under her eyes and a little green around the gills if you know what I mean."_

" _Did anybody ever come around looking for her? Friends?"_

" _No. That was strange too. Most of these high school kids I hire meet their friends after work or they come around looking to get hooked up with freebies, kids you know. Not her, no one ever came for her."_

" _How'd she get to work? We know she had a driver's license."_

" _Never saw her in a car. I'm pretty sure she took the bus. It stops right on the corner of Columbus and Green."_

 _Mike nodded to Steve as he made a note to check with bus drivers on the multiple routes that ran along Columbus._

 _They were all quiet for a moment. When it was clear Stella had no more insights about Jane Doe, Steve finally broke the silence. "Is Carlos here today?"_

" _No, he asked for the day off, do you blame him?"_

" _No ma'am, I don't. May we have his home address?"_

* * *

 _A quick trip to Carlos Ramirez's home was a waste of time. Nobody was home so the pair drove back to Bryant Street._

" _Interesting. Ramirez was too upset to work, but not to be out for the day. "What do you think, buddy boy?"_

" _I think we'll have to keep after him."_

" _Me, too. So now we need to check with SFMTA and the State Department as well as Balboa High School, Social Security and the Bureau of Vital Statistics."_

" _Where do you want to start?" Steve was a little daunted with the thought of dealing with state and federal government and had no desire to spend the rest of the day on the phone. "Tell you what, let's split it up. I'll pick up the picture we had Telexed from DMV, hit the high school and SFMTA. You take the feds and state of California."_

" _You want me to deal with the red tape, huh wise guy?"_

 _Steve grinned. "You know what Mike, with that steel-trap mind of yours, you'd make a hell of a detective. Do you mind? You know how I_ _ **love**_ _dealing to the feds. Come on, isn't that why you're the lieutenant?"_

 _Mike gave Steve an affectionate slap on the arm. "OK, but you owe me. I'll also check in with Charlie. He said he'd have something first thing."_

 _Steve walked with Mike as far as the lab and continued on to the bull pen. He picked up the photo and noticed a pink message slip on his desk from Cameron Miller. Curious, he dialed the phone, only to be treated to a chorus of unanswered rings. He copied the number into his notebook and left the call back slip on Mike's desk with a short note before heading out to Balboa High._

 _School had only been back in session for a week or so. Whether he would be successful or not depended on how long their Jane Doe had been impersonating Donna Miller._

 _Steve parked in the visitor parking and walked to the main office. A helpful secretary pointed him in the direction of the guidance office. He waited until after the change of classes before he headed down the hall._

" _What can I do for you, officer?" The guidance secretary asked before he even showed his ID._

" _Is it that obvious?" Steve produced his shied._

" _No, not really, but you're definitely a not social worker or a teacher, they don't dress as nice as you and you're too young to be a parent, that leaves cop or state official, so I guessed."_

" _Fair enough, I need some information about a student." He pulled out the DMV picture. "Name's Donna Miller, 17. That makes her what a junior or a senior, right?"_

" _Most likely a senior." The woman looked at the picture. "Hm, doesn't look familiar. I usually recognize most of the faces by the time they are seniors. Sure she goes here?"_

" _Reasonably, she got her work permit from here about a year ago."_

" _Okay, let me pull her records."_

 _The woman walked out of the main office and into the file room. She returned with a very thin manila folder._

" _Ok, Donna Miller." She said as she opened the file. "Makes sense now. She enrolled beginning of last year. Transfer, no records ever showed up."_

" _Is that normal?"_

" _Sometimes, especially kids from the boonies. We send records requests, usually takes a while but, we don't stop the kids from enrolling. Funny thing after she enrolled, I don't see any indication she ever stepped in the door again. I do see a record of her work permit, but that's about it." She pushed the document over toward Steve._

 _When he looked he saw nothing but absences on her record and F's in all her classes. "What about truant officers?"_

 _The woman laughed, "Yeah, that's pretty much a joke. Honestly they try, but some kids fall through the cracks."_

" _Who would have helped her with the work permit?"_

" _Me, but they are pre-filled." She produced a 4-part carbon with the school's information neatly typed at the top. "The kids come in, get the paper, take it to their employer, and bring it back. We keep a copy, the state gets a copy, employer gets one and the kid keeps the last. We keep a supply all the time, I must give out 10 a day."_

" _Great. Can I get her home address?"_

 _Steve pulled out his notebook and started to copy down the home address from the file. He stopped when he realized what it was. "Do you check home addresses?"_

" _Same as the records, we get them registered and then follow up, why?"_

 _He turned the paper around and showed the secretary the address for the SFPD station near Balboa Park._

* * *

 _Mike was on the phone when Steve came back to the office well after 3 pm. His visit to SFMTA had yielded a long list of drivers and work schedules that would take the better part of a few days to run down. He was taking off his jacket when Mike waved him into the small office._

 _Mike put his hand over the receiver. "Take a look at the report from Charlie, I'm on hold, AGAIN. You really owe me for this one."_

 _Steve smirked and picked up the folder as Mike started to talk into the phone. He glanced through the results of the analysis of the scene, which, as expected, yielded hundreds of finger prints. He flipped the page. The typed results of the nail scrapings indicated the presence of blood and skin cells from an unknown person and a substance Charlie had identified as some kind of commercial cleaning product._

 _As he finished reading the page, Mike hung up the phone. "Who was that?"_

" _That was the social security administration. A social security card was issued to one Donna Miller a little over a year ago at the office over on Valencia. They have the original paperwork housed there, but I'm willing to bet it's going to look an awful lot like the DMV paperwork. How did you make out?"_

" _School was a bust. She registered last year. From what I can tell the only time she was ever in the building was to get her work permit. And get this, she used the address of the precinct over in Balboa as her home address. We've got a lot of leg work to do with SFMTA. You find out anything else?"_

" _You might say that." Mike paused dramatically._

" _Come on Mike, what?"_

 _"I called Vital Statistics. No duplicate birth certificate was ever issued, she must have had the original."_

" _Original? Then she had to get it directly from the Miller's. How is that possible?"_

" _That's what I want to know. I've been trying to call since you left, but no answer."_

" _Think that's why Cameron tried to call?"_

 _Mike was already up grabbing his coat and hat. "I think that is exactly why he tried to call. Let's get over there and see what Mr. Miller has to say."_

" _I thought you wanted to leave them alone."_

" _I don't think that's an option anymore."_

* * *

 _Steve pulled the LTD up to the dismal house on Connecticut St. They both unclipped their holsters when they found the front door wide open._

 _Mike pounded on the door frame and announced their presence before carefully entering with Steve in tow. The place was cleared out. Mike pointed Steve upstairs, while he checked down._

 _Mike was in the kitchen when he heard Steve call. Climbing the stairs, he found Steve in the second bedroom, crouched over the lifeless body of Janice Miller._


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N: First I offer my sincerest apologies for the length of time between postings. RL has been moving at warp speed of late. All good things but super busy. I won't make any promises, but I hope to be a little more prompt with updates. If you choose to back off and read the whole thing when it's completed (I will finish) I totally understand. Thanks again for all your lovely feedback.**_

"Wait a minute," Catherine said taking a sip of wine. After suspending the story to get some packing done, the trio had adjourned to Steve's house for pizza and pinot noir on the patio overlooking San Francisco Bay. A cool sea breeze blew as the sun slid down the sky, bathing the scene in saffron-colored light. "I didn't see anything in the file about another murder."

"Murder, no. Janice either committed suicide or accidentally OD'd. Charlie's autopsy showed a deadly combination of alcohol and Quaaludes. No sign of a struggle, nothing pointing to murder."

"That's awful. What a tragic chain of events. Seems like the family was cursed." Jeannie added between bites.

"No kidding. I think that's why Mike originally wanted to leave them alone, they were so broken when we met them. But as time went on, it seemed likely Cameron Miller was involved up to his eyeballs."

"Could explain how Jane Doe got Donna's birth certificate and why she used the Miller's address for her driver's license." Catherine mused.

"Yeah, that's what we both thought. Maybe she was an illegal, maybe they were friends, maybe he was the father of the child she was carrying, maybe he gave her the birth certificate. Maybe Janice found out. Maybe Janice killed her and committed suicide. Maybe, maybe, maybe… A lot of maybes and no real answers."

"So what happened next?"

 **September 16, 1972 9am**

 _Mike and Steve had spent a couple of days chasing leads that went nowhere. Cameron Miller seemed to have vanished into the ether and Carlos Ramirez had yet to return to work. Steve had spent a lot of time on public transportation, talking to bus drivers with no recollection of a pretty girl named Donna in a white bakery uniform. Fortunately, he only had a few more names on his list._

 _Mike was having the same sort of luck in the realm of federal red tape. After a lot of hours staring at microfilm of resident alien photos, he had found no record of a green card being issued to Jane Doe since 1965, which either meant she had come to the states much earlier or immigrated illegally. He still had microfiche immigration ledgers to go through and the thought of another day in the dark staring at a screen was not a pleasant one._

 _Steve was working on his third cup of coffee, typing up the report of what little progress had been made. Mike was reading the coroner's report on Janice Miller's death when the phone rang on his desk. After a brief conversation, Mike grabbed his coat and hat and came out of the office with a smile for the first time in several days._

" _Where we going Mike?" Steve asked as he pulled his .38 out of the lower drawer and slipped it in his holster, rushing to catch up with his partner._

" _That was Collins from dispatch. Black and white just did a drive by the Ramirez place. Somebody's finally home."_

 _Steve pulled up across the street from a small bungalow on Sanchez Street in the Mission District. The curtain in the front window twitched._

" _You think maybe I should go around back?" Steve asked as threw the car into park and pointed out the activity in the window with a tilt of his head._

" _Good idea. Doesn't look like he wants company, does it?"_

 _Mike crossed the street and climbed the steps, knocking on the door. Steve jumped out of the car and trotted towards Ford Street so he could access the alley to the back of the house. As he reached the mouth of the cut through, he was bowled over by Carlos Ramirez swinging a medium sized duffle bag. Steve futilely grasped at the fleeing baker's legs, but a kick to the jaw quickly ended the effort._

 _Mike glanced north up Sanchez St. just in time to see Ramirez barreling east on Ford. Abandoning the door, he ran towards the fleeing man, calling for him to stop. As he reached the corner, Mike looked for Steve who was just getting to his feet. He waved Mike off in the direction of the suspect._

 _Mike pursued Ramirez a block before his partner caught up. He waved Steve down the side street, in the hope that the younger man could use his speed to circle in front the suspect. The plan was sound and would have been successful, if Ramirez hadn't disappeared down an alley in the opposite direction._

 _Steve bent over took several panted breaths as he came to an abrupt stop next to Mike. He stood up and worked his jaw side to side. He was pretty sure it wasn't broken, but that didn't make it hurt any less._

" _Looks like you're going to have a hell of a bruise, you need to get that x-rayed?"_

" _Nah. I don't think so. Where'd he go?"_

" _That's a really good question, let's go call it in and see if we can figure it out."_

00000

Steve rubbed his jaw, the phantom pain of the encounter with Carlo's foot refreshed in his mind.

"So Ramirez was involved too?" Jeannie asked.

"Who knows? Mike and I searched the neighborhood and then went back to the car and called in an APB. We even got help from a couple of uniforms, but it was like the guy dropped off the face of the earth. The highway patrol ultimately found his car burned out and ditched east of San Diego. Mike figured Ramirez must have slipped over the border back to Mexico. We called the feds, but we never found him.

"What about Miller? Did he ever turn up?"

"Nope. He didn't even show up to his mother's funeral."

Jeannie picked up the pizza box and paper plates and dropped them in the trash. "So that's where it ended, huh?"

"Not quite."

 **September 16, 1972 1 pm**

 _Mike dropped Steve off near Stella's to wait for the bus. The last driver on his list was finally on duty and due to arrive presently. Steve got on the bus that traveled down Green when it stopped at Columbus. The middle aged man behind the wheel did a double take when he saw Steve's bruised face, but waved him on when he caught sight of his inspectors shield. Several more passengers boarded before the driver pulled away from the curb. Steve dropped heavily in the empty front seat._

" _Looks like you've had a rough day." Steve shook his head in agreement before the driver spoke again._

" _I've been waiting for you."_

" _Really?" Steve called from the driver's right. "Why is that?"_

" _Morey, the guy who drives the late run, said some cop was nosing around. Who are you looking for?"_

" _Teenager who works at Stella's. Pretty, dark curly hair. Goes by Donna."_

 _The drive was silent a moment as he pulled the bus over at the next stop and opened the door. After several more passengers boarded, he returned his attention to Steve._

" _Yeah, I know Donna. Nice kid. Damn shame what happened." Steve was slightly taken aback that the driver knew of Donna's demise, but figured the news of the investigation had preceded him._

" _Where did she normally get on the bus?"_

" _Down by Holy Trinity, you know that Russian Church on the other end of Green. I actually saw her running out of the church one time, trying to catch the bus. I waited for her, of course, like I say, seemed like she was good people."_

" _You think she lived in the neighborhood?"_

" _Hard to say, but yeah I think so. Pretty big foreign community right there by the church, and with her accent, yeah she probably did."_

 _Steve thanked the driver and gave him his card. He got off the bus across the street from the church. As luck would have it, there was a phone booth on the opposite corner. He crossed the street and dialed Mike's desk phone at Bryant Street._

" _What you find out?" Mike asked._

" _She's got a connection with the Russian Orthodox Church on Green, Holy Trinity. I'm standing right in front of it now."_

 _Steve waited for a reply. When none came after a reasonable interval, he posed another question._

" _Is there a problem?"_

" _God, I hope not."_


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N: I humbly ask for your forgiveness for the amount of time I let this story languish. I do have a very good excuse, I broke/dislocated my shoulder, which made it virtually impossible to type. That and other rl family health challenges had me shelved for some time. My rehab has now reached the point where I can one hand type. Progress will be slow and chapters will be short, but I will finish, never fear.**_

 _ **September 16, 1972 3pm**_

 _Steve was the only customer at the counter of the small coffee shop. It was directly across Van Ness from the Cathedral. As he nursed his second cup, awaiting Mike's arrival, he pondered his partner's cryptic statement. Granted, the nation's relationship with the Soviet Union was troubled, but surely the chill did not extend to the Orthodox Church in San Francisco. As far as he knew, Holy Trinity Cathedral dated back to the 1850's in the Russian Hill section of the city where he now sat._

 _When the twenty-something woman at the counter came to fill his cup for the third time, he decided to do a little recon of his own. He smiled warmly in thanks and took a chance._

" _Hey, you know anything about the church across the street?"_

" _Like what?"_

" _Oh, I don't know, like how old is it? When's it open? Is it a busy place? You know, regular tourist stuff."_

" _You don't strike me as a tourist, why so interested? You a cop or something?"_

" _Gee, is it tattooed on my forehead? Second time I've been made for a cop this week before I even pulled out my badge."_

" _Educated guess. First, you drink this swill like a pro and there's that nice new bruise on your face, but mostly it's the threads, man. Too stylish for the locals, too dressy for tourists." The young woman grinned and giggled._

" _I guess I'm going to have to talk to my tailor." He returned her smile and sought out her nametag. "Diana, pretty name, I'm Steve."_

" _Nice to meet you Steve and no, don't change a thing, you look great," she said with a wink. It was Steve's turn to grin. Diana continued, "It's just you're not the first suit asking about Holy Trinity. There was an FBI guy here, I don't know, about two weeks ago asking pretty much the same thing. And then there were these guys with Boris Badenov accents who were around before that."_

" _Really? What did you tell them?"_

" _Same thing I'll tell you, I really don't know anything about the place. I'm from Tacoma, just started here six months ago. I don't even live in this neighborhood, I just work here."_

 _Not willing to give up, Steve continued the conversation. "I dig, but you must have noticed something in the last 6 months. Do you work on Saturday and Sunday?"_

" _Yep."_

" _So you see people going to services, right."_

" _Yep."_

" _So were they old people or young people?"_

 _She thought a moment. "Mostly old men in black suits, stout old women in babushkas. There are a few young families, but it's mostly old people."_

" _Babushkas?"_

" _Yeah, those silk scarves they wear tied under their chins. My Babcia used to wear one to church all the time._

" _Babcia?"_

" _Yeah, Polish grandmother."_

" _Well, I guess I learned something today, Babushkas huh? So, no younger single men or women?"_

 _She was about to say no, but though better of it. "Funny, that's what the other suits asked. I really hadn't thought much about it, but every couple of weeks I would see groups of younger women, maybe late teens early twenties and groups of thirty something single men. Just for a day or two and then they would disappear."_

" _Did you tell the feds or Boris that?"_

 _Diana smiled at the mention of the cartoon character, "No, I just remembered."_

 _Steve pulled the picture of Jane Doe out of his pocket, "You ever see this girl?"_

 _Diana looked at the picture, "I don't know, maybe. Like I said, they wouldn't be around for long, plus I see a lot of people waiting for the bus every day as well." She returned the picture._

 _Steve was about to ask another question when the bell on the door tinkled, announcing the arrival of Lt. Mike Stone._

 _Diana leaned in and whispered to Steve, "I don't even have to think twice about him, definitely a cop."_

 _Steve laughed before introducing his partner to the young woman._

 _Mike sat down and Diana poured him a cup of coffee before disappearing through a door behind the counter._

" _What was all that about wise guy?" Mike asked before taking a sip._

" _Oh nothing. What took you so long?"_

" _Nothing, huh, we'll see. While you have been chatting up the young lady I was making phone calls. Trying to grease the skids with the clergy across the street."_

 _Steve pantomimed mock insult to Mike's jab. "Yeah, about that. What did you mean on the phone, that it might be a problem?"_

 _Mike took a long sip of coffee before he elaborated._

00000

Jeannie yawned and looked at her watch, surprised to see it was going on 10 pm. "Well, as compelling as this story is, I've got to call it a night, I still have to pack and my flight's at 8 am. I don't think I can handle two late nights in a row anymore." She bid them pleasant dreams, got up and took her wine glass into the kitchen, leaving Steve and Catherine on the porch. The sun had disappeared hours ago, leaving them in semi darkness. San Francisco shimmered in the distance, swathed in the glow of a multitude of incandescent streetlights.

Steve picked up the wine bottle and tried to split the dregs between Catherine glass and his own. Catherine quickly put her hand over her glass.

"I've had plenty boss, I've got to work in the morning."

Steve replied with a melancholy laughed. "Me too I guess, but not for very much longer."

"You having second thoughts, Doc?"

"Steve."

"Right. Steve. Are you having second thoughts about retiring?"

"No. Yes. Maybe. Hell, I don't know. I suppose it's the uncertainty. I have no idea what I'm going to do with myself. The only time I've had unstructured time was when I was hurt and frankly, I didn't handle it all that well. It scares me."

Catherine considered several trite platitudes, but in the end said nothing. They were both quiet for several moments staring back toward the city. There didn't seem to be anything left to say. Steve downed the remainder of his glass and held the door open for Catherine.

"Remember, I'm gonna to be late tomorrow. I'm taking Jeannie to the airport. If anybody turns up for office hours, tell them to come back after lunch and do me a favor, don't let anybody take over my office before I get back, ok."

Catherine gave him a thumbs up followed by a friendly hug before she made for the door. "You got it. See you tomorrow Dr. K."

Steve shook his head and resigned himself to always being Dr. K in Catherine's eye. He thought back on Jeannie's comment in his office and half wondered if his reticence to retire had something to do with his curly haired assistant.


	9. Chapter 9

**_AN: Well kids, guess what. I finally finished this baby. I'm sure the writing is uneven, and ultimately after two years of inactivity, the story took a very different path than originally intended. I have altered some of the earlier chapters for continuity, so you might want to give 1-8 a quick read through before you continue. Since it is complete, I should be posting regularly, if my schedule permits. Hope you like how it turned out. MBC_**

Steve tossed and turned for more than an hour before giving up on sleep altogether. Like most people his age, sleep came in spurts, if at all, and he had learned long ago if wasn't going to happen, he might as well get something accomplished. He went down to his office and pulled Mike's notes out of his satchel.

He ran his hand over the tidy scrawl before he started to read. Having translated it so often over the years, he could feel Mike present in the depressions on the paper. As he looked around on his desk for his glasses, he thought about their visit to the rectory of Holy Trinity all those years ago.

 _ **September 16, 1972 4pm**_

 _Steve trailed Mike up the stairs to the rectory next to Holy Trinity Cathedral. They had discussed the issues they might run into with the Orthodox cleric before they'd left the coffee shop._

" _So?" Steve prompted Mike, who seemed to be stalling._

" _Well, let's just say that religion isn't the only business this particular cathedral is in. You said that Diana mentioned seeing groups of young men and women. What does that suggest to you?"_

" _I don't know, social group? Why are you being so mysterious?"_

" _How about mail order brides and illegal immigration?"_

 _Steve was dumbfounded. He couldn't believe such a thing as mail order brides existed at this point in history._

" _Really, you're kidding me, right?"_

" _Fraid not. This church has been a nexus of illegal immigration since the 50's."_

" _And the feds let it happen?"_

" _Pretty much. Most turn a blind eye to the operation, figuring the church is providing a service to women wishing to escape the oppression of the Soviet state. And once they're married, well…"_

" _They get their green cards and everything's legal."_

 _Mike tapped his finger on the tip of his nose in response._

" _So this is just an exercise in futility?"_

" _I didn't say that. I just think we will have to be extraordinarily careful in our approach with Fr. Ivan."_

" _Father Ivan, really?" Steve snickered a little._

" _Why is that so funny?"_

 _Steve collected himself before replying. "Oh, I don't know, it just kind of stereotypical, isn't it, particularly after talking to Diana about Boris Badenov."_

" _Who?"_

" _Boris Badenov, you know, with Natasha Fatale, moose and squirrel." He finished of the last bit with a mock Russian accent._

" _What are you going on about?"_

" _Didn't you ever watch_ _ **Rocky and Bullwinkle**_ _with Jeannie? Diana said there were a couple of guys nosing around with Boris Badenov accents of late. Russian Accents"_

" _Really? Nice work, buddy boy, we might just be able to use that in our favor."_

00000

Steve awoke with a start, the sound of banging in the kitchen interrupting a dream about certain residents of Frostbite Falls, Minnesota. Why was it he could always fall asleep on the couch or a chair, but never in his very comfortable bed? He looked at the clock now creeping past 5 and realized time was playing him for the fool again. He needed to be ready to leave for the airport in a few minutes, damned traffic and 9-11 TSA regulation. After stuffing the notes back in his bag, he stretched and went up to change. It was going to be a long day. He grabbed a cup of coffee on the way out the door.

A congested trip out to the airport and back ended when Steve turned up at Berkeley at 11 am. He was sorry to see Jeannie go. It felt like a door shutting for the last time. With the house sold and Mike gone, there was no reason for her to return to The City.

Jeannie, for her part, was anxious to get back to her life in Phoenix. In the morning's hubbub, she hadn't even asked about case. They exchanged hugs, platitudes and promises but, truth be told, both understood that they may never see each other again. Steve had been having moments like this a lot recently, moments of finality. It made him feel old and he didn't particularly like it.

Catherine was sitting at her desk, talking on the phone when Steve came in. She smiled. He waved vaguely in her direction; went to his office and closed the door. After reading his messages and dropping them in the trash without action, he made a cup of tea. Sitting heavily, he opened his satchel and slipped Mike's notes out onto his desk.

About halfway through the 6th page, he found a name that caught his attention. According to Mike, Dr. Matthias Lewis was a DNA expert. The name was familiar, but he couldn't quite recall in what context. DNA wasn't even a consideration in 1972 and Mike was never really a fan of crime fighting with science. He checked the date at the top of the entry. 1992. That was almost 20 years after the murder.

He made to grab a book off his research shelf, before he remembered that his reference books had already been boxed. He looked at his laptop, but thought better of it.

Steve buzzed the outer office.

"Whatcha need, Dr. K?" was the perky response on the end of the line.

"How would you like to play detective for the afternoon?" Steve knew she would like nothing better than to do a little research on the very cold case.

Catherine laughed out loud before answering, "Do you even have to ask?"

"Just being polite, I have a name I need to get some background on and if possible, contact information."

"Shoot."

"Dr. Matthias Lewis. He was or is a DNA expert. That's all I have, just a name, no context except that he was active in the field in 1992."

"No sweat. Name sounds kinda familiar. You know, you could have probably just looked it up on Google."

"Yeah, I know, but you are so much better at following leads down the digital rabbit hole than I am."

"As I said before, Doc, flattery will get you everywhere. But I have one condition."

"And that is?" Steve answered with a curious lilt to his voice.

"This is part of you cold case, right?"

"Yep."

"After I look this up, you need to tell me the rest of the story."

"Seems fair. Let me know when you've got something"

Steve smiled as he hung up the phone. He knew that Catherine could not resist a mystery. It was one of her many endearing qualities. _Dammit, Jeannie_. He thought. She had planted a seed in his brain regarding Catherine, and he was having a hard time dismissing the thought. He was old enough to be her father, but still….

He shook his head and paged through the rest of the notes, but there was no more mention of DNA or Dr. Lewis. He put the tablet to the side, pulled over one of the packing cartons that was laying by his desk and started to empty the drawers into it. He wasn't terribly concerned with the contents and half considered leaving the various and sundry office supplies it contained in situ. Deciding it would be rude to let someone else deal with the collection once they moved into _his_ office, he pulled out the drawer and dumped the balance into the box.

Steve sealed the crate with tape and tackled the file drawer of the credenza. He had to be more careful here as the records of his entire teaching carrier, including the original manuscripts for several of his books, were contained within. He pulled out the files that supported his latest book and shoved them in his satchel with the old case file, recalling he had a chapter overdue. Cathering stuck her head in the door.

"Are you still alive in here?" she asked. She was used to him getting involved and missing lunch, but it was already past one and she couldn't help but look out for him. Steve looked up in her direction.

"Yeah, I'm still here. Just trying to decide whether to pack this stuff or put a match to the place. There is absolutely nothing worse than packing, particularly after all these years. What am I gonna do with all this... " he waved his hand in exasperation at the explosion of files on his desk, "junk?"

"Junk, really?" I think the university would be happy to have your 'junk' for its collection if you don't want it. For crying out loud, Doc, it's amazing that a smart guy you sells himself so short."

Steve was a little taken aback by her compliment. While he had written several important text on criminology, he never considered his archive to be worthy of preservation, they were just, well they were just notes. He shrugged back at her, choosing not to share his inner monologue.

An awkward silence followed until Steve noticed the slip in her hand.

"That for me?"

"Um, yeah." Now it was Catherine's turn to feel flummoxed as she felt heat rise in her face. _What the hell just happened?_ she thought.

"It's the quick and shallow on Dr. Lewis" she replied, getting her mind back on track.

She handed Steve the note while reciting the information it contained. "Dr. Matthias Lewis was a DNA pioneer for the FBI, worked or works at their headquarters in Quantico, Virginia. He was on the team that helped convict Timothy Wilson Spencer, the Southside Strangler in Virginia in the 80's. Hey wasn't that the first case that used DNA in the US?"

Steve snapped his fingers, "That's where I remember it from, jeez getting old sucks. I can't remember squat these days."

"Give yourself a break, I didn't remember it either," Catherine said with a smile.

"He still around?"

"From what I could find, yeah, but I don't know if he's still active in the field. It'll take more digging to get current contact information."

Steve was a touch disappointed. For some reason he felt like maybe he finally had a lead on the old case.

"Tell you what. I'm beat and I'm starved. Why don't we get out of here, I'll buy you a late lunch and I'll finish the story."

"Gee, doc. I have shared more meals with you in the last two day than I have in the last two years, lemme get my jacket. How's Indian sound?"

"Sounds like a great Idea." Part of the benefit of living in a town that housed a University with an international staff was the food.

Steve followed her out of his office and locked the door, happy not only to have dodged packing for another few hours, but also to be in the company of a vivacious younger woman, rather than his own maudlin thoughts on retiring.


	10. Chapter 10

Catherine used a hunk of garlic naan to mop up the last of the sauce on her plate of Malai Kofta. Steve pushed his entree away and took a long pull on his bottle of Kingfisher, querying his luncheon partner.

"Where did I leave off?"

"I think you and Lt. Stone were about to go see Fr. Ivan."

 _ **September 16, 1972 4:00 pm**_

 _The housekeeper answered the door and led the officers into the study. They waited a few minutes before a man entered the room. Mike seemed surprised by his appearance. He was young, maybe 30 or so and looked more like a hippie than a eastern orthodox cleric._

" _I'm sorry, I thought we were meeting with Father Ivan?" Mike asked._

" _He is not available at the moment, I'm his associate Deacon George, how can I assist you gentlemen?"_

 _Steve thought he heard a slight touch of the Ivy League in his voice. For sure, there was no trace of Eastern Europe present. He made eye contact with Mike who nodded and then handed the DMV photo of Jane Doe to the Deacon. Mike for his part kept his eyes on the cleric, trying to get a read on the man's reaction._

" _Sir, can you tell us if this young woman was a member of your congregation." Steve asked politely._

 _The Deacon took a few moments to study the grainy, black and white picture, he demeanor neutral. He finally looked up at Steve, "I can't say that I've ever seen her, but then again I have only been here two weeks."_

 _Disappointed by his response, Mike took the lead. "Is it possible that we could show it to Father Ivan as well? He has been here for quite some time, as I recall."_

 _The Deacon frowned slightly, "I'm sorry that is impossible, Father Ivan has been recalled to our Mother Church in New York. We are actually waiting for his replacement as we speak."_

" _Is there anyone else that we can speak to?" Steve asked, fairly certain he knew what the response would be._

" _I'm afraid not. I'm just kinda holding down the fort until we get a new priest. I don't know the congregation that well and even if I could give you their names, they might be reticent to speak to law enforcement, if you know what I mean. Sorry."_

 _Steve handed him his card. "If you can think of anything else, we would really appreciate a phone call."_

00000

"Wait, wait, the priest was recalled between the time Mike made the appointment and when you got there, in like, a couple of hours?" Catherine asked.

"Suspicious, huh"

"That's an understatement."

"Mike and I thought so too. But the weirdness doesn't end there."

00000

 _Steve slid behind the wheel of the LTD, happy to be driving rather than riding the bus after several days of "bus route bingo" trying to interview drivers._

" _So where do we go from here, boss?" Steve asked playfully. They had struck out at the church, although they had left a card with the young Deacon._

" _Telephone for you, back to the microfiche for me."_

" _Telephone who?"_

" _I need you to see if you can find out who 'recalled' father Ivan to New York. I think it's also time to contact the Feds, to see why they were interested in the Church."_

" _And while I'm having all that fun?"_

" _I'll be reviewing Immigration logs, pretty sure it's going to be a waste of time after I struck out on green cards, but you never know."_

" _What about Cameron MIller?"_

" _What about him, the APB was a bust."_

 _Steve went quiet. It seemed to him they had a big collection of dead ends. Ramirez and Miller were in the wind. Janice Miller was dead. Father Ivan transferred. He doubted the church would be forthcoming and the feds were never terribly cooperative. The only tangible thing they had was a dead, pregnant 25 year old with an eastern European accent who, before her death was masquerading as a teenager. They didn't even know where she lived._

 _A horn sounded, waking Steve from his reverie. He hadn't noticed that the light had changed. He put his foot on the gas and slowly made his way through the intersection, pulling over to the curb._

" _What?" Miked inquired at the unplanned stop._

" _There has to be somebody in this neighborhood who remembers our Jane Doe. She got the bus here, so more than likely, she lived near here. Since we are already here, don't you think it's worth a few minutes to hit the local shops, especially the ones that cater to the Russian community, to see if we can get a name?_

 _Mike thought about it for a few beats. Truth be told, he wasn't enthralled with the idea of spending more time pouring over records. "Sure, why not. Maybe we'll get lucky, pull around the corner. There's a butcher shop and a grocer's on Union."_

 _Steve smiled, Mike's knowledge of the city always amazed him. He was also happy to put off what he assumed would be dead end phone calls. Pulling back out onto Van Ness, he made a left on Union, parking in front of Lebedev's Butcher Shop._

 _A bell tinkled as Mike and Steve entered the shop. Steve briefly thought of the vocabulary Diana shared with him when a short, stout woman in a blood stained white apron and colorful babushka addressed them in Russian._

 _Mike held up his star and responded in the few words of Russian he knew. The woman scowled and disappeared through the door behind the counter._

" _What was that all about?" Steve asked just before a girl in her teens came through the same door._

" _How can I help you gentlemen?" she asked pleasantly_

" _Miss…?"_

" _Ledbedev, Tanya. This is my grandparents' shop. My grandmother doesn't speak much English, and she especially doesn't speak English to the police. A lot of Russians of her generation are afraid of anybody in authority. I don't blame her."_

 _Mike nodded in understanding. "Miss Ledbedev, would you mind looking at a picture for us."_

" _Sure."_

 _Steve pulled the photo out of his pocket. She stared at it intently before responding._

" _I can't be sure, but it looks a little like Irina, but she's a blonde."_

" _Do you know her last name?"_

 _The young woman paused and thought, "Not sure, I only work here part time, but my Grandmother might, hang on a second."_

 _The girl turned and left through the door. Her departure was followed by a brief argument in heated Russian. Tanya returned._

" _Uh, my grandmother said, and I quote, 'She is a good girl and you don't need to talk to her."_

 _Steve rolled his eyes at Mike, then turned and smiled at the girl, "That's okay, maybe you can help us. Does she come in here often?"_

" _I've see her a few times, but like I say I'm only part time."_

" _Have you seen her recently?"_

" _Now that I think about it, it has been a long while."_

" _Do you have customer records?" Mike chimed in, having some knowledge of how these mom and pop immigrant shops operated._

 _Tanya produced a small metal box from behind the counter. "Yeah we do. Lot of bartering goes on in the neighborhood, unfortunately all the cards are in Cyrillic. I can speak it but I don't read it at all. Without a last name, I don't have a clue."_

 _This was going nowhere fast. As a last ditch effort Steve asked, "Do you think she lives in the neighborhood?"_

" _I think I have seen her around, but it's hard to say. Some people drive here to shop, even when they've moved off the Hill."_

 _Mike and Steve thanked Tanya for her help and exited the shop, walking directly into Sokolov's Grocery._

" _Lt. Stone, long time no see. You here for Babka?_

 _Steve looked at Mike with a "Why didn't we start here?" look._

 _Mike ignored his partner's questioning eyes and greeted Alexi Sokolov._

" _Not today Al, we're here with questions."_

 _The older man's smile vanished. "Come on, Mike you know I don't play that game anymore."_

" _NO, no it's not like that." Mike answered quickly._

 _Steve was perplexed at the interchange, but Mike spared no time on explanations._

" _Show him the picture."_

 _Steve pulled the photo from his pocket, Alexi limped from behind the counter and put on his glasses, studying the grainy black and white._

" _Looks a little like Irina Petrovic, but she's been dead for over a year. A real shame, only married a few years, had a pretty little girl, Eva I think."_

 _Steve took out his notebook and wrote down the name, showing it to the grocer to verify the spelling. "Do you have a name and address on the husband?"_

" _Yeah, I do. But I heard that Petrovic and the kid moved on, Seattle I think."_

 _Alexi pulled out a log book and flipped nearly to the end before he came up with the name Mikhail Petrovic and an address on the 1200 block of Filbert._

 _Mike and Steve exited the shop and set off for the address on foot._

" _What's the deal with the old woman and the girl in the butchers? Steve asked Mike as they rounded the corner. "You'd think they would know if their customer was dead. It makes no sense, they gotta be lying. And what is the deal with Sokolov?"_

" _He used to be a snitch for one of the uniforms, till he crossed the wrong person. You see the limp, they almost killed him. As for the contradiction in their stories, somebody is definitely lying about something, but which one? Do you remember seeing in the report that our Jane Doe's hair was dyed."_

" _Nope, I think Bernie would have noticed that. You think we are barking up the wrong tree?"_

" _Could be."_

 _Mike and Steve arrived at 1269. Repeated pounding was finally rewarded when a young boy in a 49ers t-shirt answered the door. Mike took the lead with the 5 year old._

" _Nice shirt young man, I'm a 49ers fan too!"_

" _Mom says I'm not s'posed to talk to strangers."_

" _Your mom's right." Mike took out his star and showed it to the boy. "But I'm a Policeman. Did she say that was ok?"_

" _Yup, that's ok."_

" _Is you mom here?"_

" _Uh huh, she's in the kitchen."_

" _Can we talk to her please?"_

 _The boy bellowed, "MOM," turned, and ran from the door._

 _They stood patiently on the stoop until a petite blonde in a flour-dusted apron approached the door with the small boy in tow. She gaped at the wide open front door and gently chastised the small boy._

" _Billy, you know you're not supposed to answer the door."_

" _Ah, ma I'm 5, I can answer the door." He held up 5 fingers as he spoke._

 _She turned and wiped her hands on her aprons and greeted the two cops. "Sorry about that gentlemen, what can I do for you?"_

 _Both Steve and Mike offered their ID before they spoke._

" _No problem ma'am, I'm Lt. Stone and this is Inspector Keller, do you have time to answer a few questions?" They heard a kitchen timer go off in the background._

" _I guess, but you'll have to follow me, that timer is calling my name."_

 _They followed the woman into a cramped kitchen. She took a pan of cookies out of the oven and put them on a rack to cool before slipping in another tray and setting the timer._

" _Ya got 11 minutes." She said as she flopped down on a kitchen chair. "I hate bake sales."_

" _Can we get your name please, Steve asked with a smile."_

" _Geeze my manners, Sorry I'm Doris Martin."_

" _Ms. Martin, how long have you lived at this address?"_

" _I guess going on a 6 months. From what I understand, the previous resident left without a word."_

" _So you never met them?"_

" _Nope. We only dealt with a rental agent. We were just happy to get the place. We really didn't ask any questions."_

 _Steve looked at Mike, who picked up the thread._

" _Did you ever ask your neighbors about the house. I mean, you had to be curious."_

" _Funny, I tried to, but nobody seems to know anything in this neighborhood, they kind of close ranks. Plus, half of them pretend they don't speak English, makes it kinda hard to make friends."_

 _Mike was just about to bail out of the interview when the timer sounded. Mrs. Martin swapped the trays and sat back down. "Sorry."_

" _No problem, Ma'am, we are just going to get out of your way." Mike laid a card on the table, if you thinks of anything, please give us a call."_

 _Mrs Martin was walking them to the door when she stopped suddenly, "Hang on, I'm such an idiot, I didn't tell you about the box."_

" _Box?"_

" _Yeah, gosh I'd lose my head if it wasn't attached. One of the reasons I asked around was because we found something in the closet when we moved in, hang on."_

 _She walked in the other room and came back with a small white box. She handed it to Mike._

" _Here you go, I'm sure somebody is missing that."_

 _Mike opened up the box. It contained a heart shaped locket with an elaborate "I" engraved on the face. He pried it open. Inside, on one side, was a photo of a baby and behind glass on the other was a small coil of dark hair._


	11. Chapter 11

"And that's pretty much where it ended. Bernie verified her hair wasn't dyed, so we were never really sure if our Jane Doe was Irina. No one ever filed a missing person report. We never found any record of a Mihkail or Eva Petrovic that matched our parameters in Seattle or anywhere in the US. It's like they never existed. Immigration was a dead end as well."

"What about the church. Were you ever able to talk to Fr. Ivan?"

"Nope, when I finally got ahold of of the administrator for the church, he said that Fr. Ivan had taken an extended sabbatical in the Ukraine to care for an ailing parent. Apparently he never came back. Over the years, I would call periodically, but it was a dead end."

"Did you follow up with the shopkeepers?"

"Yeah, but Tanya didn't know anything more and the Grandmother refused to talk to us. We tried to compel her legally, but she passed away less than a year later. Sokolov never changed his story, and Mike was convinced he was telling the truth."

"Did you ever find out who told him she was dead? A funeral would have been pretty conspicuous in that neighborhood."

"Yeah I know, but apparently it was a hush hush thing, The husband told Sokolov she was stepping out on him and was killed by her boyfriend. Back in the day, in that male dominated community, people never asked questions in those situations. According to Petrovic, she had disgraced and humiliated him, end of story."

"What about the FBI?"

"They knew about the illegal immigration ring, but they were looking into Russian mob activity. It seemed that the mail order bride business of the church was the worst kept secret in San Francisco."

"Do you think the murder had anything to do with the mob?"

"I'm gonna say no, because the FBI didn't seem interested in our investigation. Had it been connect they would have been all over it."

"So that was it."

"Yep, that was it."

They were both quiet for a moment while Steve took care of the bill.

"You know I can pay for my own meal, Dr. K."

"Yeah I know, but I enjoy treating, I'm old school remember. Consider it a thank you for 15 years of faithful service."

"Hell. If I'd known that, I would have ordered the Lobster."

Steve laughed as he signed the receipt and they walked back to campus.

"What ever happen to the locket?"

"I don't know. It would probably be in the original case evidence box."

"It's still around? "

"For unsolved cases, they tend to keep the evidence, so yeah, it's still around somewhere. What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking about the DNA expert that Lt. Stone contacted. You think the hair might still be viable?"

"Maybe, but what good will it do us, we have nothing to compare it to. Jane Doe's body was cremated and there were no databases for comparison in the 70's."

"We might find a familial link."

"True but how does it help? The daughter whose hair was in the locket was only a baby at the time, she wouldn't know anything, even if she is still alive."

"True, but at least you could finally put a name on her grave."

For Steve, the prospect of getting at least partial closure on the case was too compelling not to pursue. "Tell you what, if you can get a number on what's his name, the DNA guy that MIke contacted. Dr…."

"Dr. Lewis"

"I'll see if I can track down the evidence box. I still have a few contacts in the department."

"Deal."

They parted ways when they got back to office, each to their own research. Steve searched his desk for the number for the Commandant of The Academy, to whom he owed a call. After a few minutes, he located the pink message slip stuck under the desk blotter. He really didn't want to give a speech at graduation, but of all the people Steve knew at the department, he had the most clout.

The phone rang several times before a gruff sounding man answered.

"This is Greer, what can I do for you?"

"Answering your own phone these days, Doug, that's a switch this is Steve Keller."

"Steve, how are you? I could say the same about you, returning your own calls, where's the lovely Catherine?"

"On another project, I'm just trying to tie up some loose ends."

"So are you finally going to cave in and speak at graduation. I mean really Keller, half of the kids who come through here have been in your classes."

"I'm leaning that way, but I have a price."

"Figures, so lay it on me."

"Steve laughed at a phrase he hadn't heard in a while. Doug, you are showing your years with that!

Captain Doug Greer laughed with his old friend, "Speak for yourself old man, I'm not the one retiring. So tell me, what's it going to cost me for 20 minutes of your time?"

"I need access to an evidence box from a case that Mike and I had back in the day. Only one we never put to bed."

"Cold case, huh, you really are tying up loose ends. You got a name or the case number?"

Steve opened his satchel and took out Mike's notes. "Jane Doe case but I have the number."

It took a few minutes for Cpt. Greer to dig up the info on his laptop. "You know, they have that new cold case squad working out of the Hall of Justice, you might want to give them a ring.*"

"Yeah I did read something about that, but I'm following a trail of breadcrumbs my old partner left. I feel like it's something I want to follow up on."

"I hear ya. It's hard to let go. Ok, I've got the info. The original material is still at Bryant Street."

"You're kidding me, I thought they moved everything over to the new headquarters in the Mission District."

"No, the old stuff is still there, down in the basement, but you're gonna need authorization to get it."

"Your point, Doug? That's part of the deal. I promise if anything comes of it, I'll report it, Ok?"

"Sure, why not, what are friends for."

"Extortion and favors, I owe you one."

"Yes you do. I'll collect in August."

Steve hung up the phone and entered the graduation date on his phone's calendar. He was about to call it a night when he had a thought.

He fired up his computer and opened up Facebook, searching for Cameron Millers. It was a long shot, but it wouldn't take any effort on his part. The search results came up with half a dozen in the greater San Francisco area. He clicked on each page in turn until he opened the page of a 60-something artist who lived in San Leandro.

Clicking on the man's album, he scrolled through the photos. It was a little awkward, trolling someone's life: weddings, vacations, birthday parties, etc. He was almost at the end of the album when he saw it. A scan of a yellowed, square instamatic photo. What were the odds of him finding an image of a skinny, young man with matted hair. It was without a doubt _his_ Cameron Miller.

Steve ran his fingers through his hair and then slapped his hand on the desk, agape at the discovery. _Well all right._ He thought of all the shoe leather he and Mike had expended on the case, and here was their witness after a few clicks of a mouse. He switched over to Google and found the online yellow pages, easily finding a listing for Wasted Youth Studios, LLC.

He looked at his watch. It was going on 6pm. He was about to go out and make sure Catherine realized what time it was when she entered the office wearing a Cheshire cat smile.

"I found him!"

"So, did I," Steve responded cryptically.

 _ ***San Francisco does operate a cold case squad out of the Hall of Justice at Bryant Street. It is made up of retired officers and Lab techs.**_


End file.
